“No,” Axel hurried after her. “We don’t know what could happen to us inside. We don’t know what it is. We could be pulled into the Dreamworld, and we’re neither Dreamers nor Dreamhunters. This is too dangerous for us.”
“What kind of dream is this?” Fable said. “This isn’t like the dreams we saw Loki enter before. It’s daylight, and he entered the dream a little after midnight. It’s been way longer than forty two minutes.”
Axel didn’t answer her. He pulled out a cell phone and started scrolling through it.
“What are you doing Axel, isn’t that Loki’s phone?”
“It is,” Axel nodded proudly. “I picked it up after he left Candy House. It has all the information Loki copied from his Dreamhunter’s Guide.”
“Finally, you did something smart,” Fable said. “Found anything?”
“Actually, yes,” Axel said, trying to avoid Fable’s stare.
“What is it?”
“I found a page where this purple gate is mentioned encircling the Dream Temple,” Axel said.
“And?” Fable got impatient.
“It only happens when the Dreamhunter’s Fleece is in someone else’s possession,” he said, reading from the phone.
“We already know Carmilla has Loki’s Fleece,” Fable puffed. “Tell me something I don’t know, Axel. Is it safe to pass trough it?”
“Not at all,” Axel said. “It says here that passing through it into the Dream Temple could lead to insanity.”
“What? Why?”
“Because this purple light means this dream is Locked,” Axel read.
“What does that mean?”
“Loki didn’t write much about it, but wait,” Axel scrolled the pages. “It says here that a Locked Dream is a…” he raised his eyes to Fable, looking worried.
“Axel?” Fable titled her head.
“It means this is a never-ending dream,” Axel pronounced slowly.
“What does that mean?”
“It means it’s not controlled by the timing of the Hourglass Waker, nor can the Dreamer shift between time and place like Shew used to do in her previous dreams,” Axel said.
“That’s crazy,” Fable said. “And what is this purple thing?”
“It’s the protector, or Locker, of this dream. That should be obvious, Fable.”
“Yeah?” Fable had her hands on her waist again. “But there must be a way to wake up from any dream, even if it’s never ending. Magic always solves problems like these. Does it say anything about that?”
Axel raised his head from the phone and shrugged, “It doesn’t,” he looked away from her, not wanting to tell her what he’d just read. The only way out of this dream was insane, and it was going to upset Fable so he decided not to tell her now.
“Are you keeping something from me, Axel?” Fable demanded.
Knowing that Fable’s next move was to snatch Loki’s phone from his hand, Axel deleted the part he didn’t want her to read.
“What did you do, Axel,” she pouted, snatching the phone.
“Nothing,” he shook his head and went on munching on a frog.
“Are you sure, Axel?” she asked politely, staring at the purple light and wondering if she was insane enough to pass through it.
Axel watched it closely. He knew his sister was crazy enough to walk through the light. And if she had read what he just read, she’d have had even more reasons to walk through. It was his job to protect her, and he wouldn’t let her know the only way this dream could possibly end. Even as much as he admired Loki and feared Shew, what mattered most was Fable.
“Are you sure we should trust whoever wrote this Dreamhunter’s Guide?” Fable said, scrolling through the pages, ”I mean everything here seems incomplete. I’m sure every kind of magic has a solution, but I just couldn’t find any here.”
“Why wouldn’t we trust the writer?” Axel said. “It’s the same guy who wrote every other article in it, signed as V.H.”
9
Of Tears and Sand
Where do people go when they die in their dreams? Do their dreams die with them? Do they fall one dream lower in the levels of the Dreamworld?
Shew remembered Loki talking about the Dreamworld being six levels deep, and that this level was just One Dream Under. She wondered what Six Dreams Under felt like, and if she had been transported Two Dreams Under when she died in the Wall of Thorns.
Why is this level of the Dreamworld full of ashes, and why am I still conscious if I died in my own dream?
Shew lay on her back, staring at the blue sky above. It was barely visible, blocked by a veil of endless ashes. They looked like a large black dress filled with tiny holes that occasionally let the thin light of the moon pass through.
Ashes stuck to Shew’s hands as she tried to wave some of them away. She coughed. They were getting in her mouth, too.
She propped herself up on her elbow, discovering she’d been transported to a cornfield glowing with a faint magnificent color—a bright shade of gold.
Is this the afterlife? A cornfield?
A breeze of wind passed through Shew like a ghost, rattling the plants and brushing her skin. She needed to stand up to get the whole picture.
On her feet, she saw the cornfield was huge, encircled by the Wall of Thorns on all ends, all except a small gap in the distance that had burned to ashes. The wind puffed the ashes and sent them hanging in the air all over the corn.
“This is the Field of Dreams,” Shew mumbled. “How did I get here? Who burned the Wall of Thorns?”
Shew turned around in a full circle, looking for Cerené but couldn’t find her. Shew summoned her as loud as she could. Her voice didn’t even echo, blocked by the ashes saturating the air.
“Oh, dear God,” Shew said. “Don’t let anything bad happen to Cerené.”
Shew ran like a mad girl through the Field of Dreams. Had Cerené passed out and become buried in the corn? The cornstalks stood high enough that she had to crouch down to look for her.
Shew ran in every direction. The cornfield was like a maze. Its yellow color was alarming to the eyes, misleading, insinuating a sense of being eternally lost, in contrast with the black ashes falling from above.
Suddenly, Shew stopped in front of something amidst the cornstalks. She’d never seen anything like it. There was a girl lying on her back, floating upon a small puddle of water. The girl wore a red dress, hands folded upon her chest like a mummy.
Shew knelt down and saw the girl was breathing and in a deep sleep. She had never seen someone sleeping so deeply, as if dead.
You slept like this girl once before, Shew. Try to remember. The whole Snow White story is about a moment when you slept in a coffin and were kissed awake by a prince. This girl reminds you of yourself!
Shew quieted the voice in her head. She couldn’t remember being kissed by a prince, nor sleeping in a coffin in the forest—the only coffin she’d known was the glass one in the Schloss.
There were two glass urns on the sleeping girl’s sides, just like the one Cerené was holding. One urn held a small amount of water in it, the other was filled with grains of sand which were more greenish than yellow.
Shew looked closer. The sand was rather sticky, and when she curiously tasted the water, it was salty—she spat it out.
Looking back to the girl, she saw that some of the same greenish sand stuck to her sleepy eyes.
“Hey!” Shew shook her. “Wake up. Did you see Cerené? Do you know if I am alive or dead?”
The girl didn’t respond. She was a comatose sleeping beauty.
Strides away, she came across another girl dressed in red, sleeping on a bed of water with urns on her sides.
A few steps later, she found another girl, then another.